


Human-Faerie Relations

by LostWendy1



Category: The Cruel Prince, The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Canon Compliant, Conspiring for and against the king, F/M, Mutual Pining, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostWendy1/pseuds/LostWendy1
Summary: Shopping at Target, a trip to the hospital, some light treason, and--oh yeah--making out with the King of Elfhame. It's been a weird day for Jude Duarte.





	Human-Faerie Relations

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Written and posted before the release of The Wicked King.
> 
> Intended as a chapter from the sequel, The Wicked King, that takes place before the excerpt that was released by Entertainment Weekly. (Found here, if you haven't read it yet: http://ew.com/books/2018/03/08/cruel-prince-sequel-preview/)

 

If someone had told me that the most normal part of my day was going to be shopping in Target with Cardan of all people, I would have laughed in their face.

We are supposed to be going over matters of state this morning; I had requested a special meeting so I could finally show Cardan the reply to our letter that Queen Orlagh sent back. She actually sent it a week ago, but given its contents and how I thought we should respond, I have been more than a little hesitant to bring the subject up. Our deadline for sending back an answer is fast approaching, however, so I can’t put it off any longer. If only I had commanded him to stay seated instead of giving in to my cowardice and allowing the shopping trip, perhaps everything would have proceeded differently.

It is early, but that does not stop Cardan from draining the remains of a wine bottle into his mouth, bypassing the goblet set out on the table for him, but given the Queen of the Undersea’s letter sitting hidden in my lap, I am tempted to do the same. My hands are shaking as I think about what I must do--this is the part of my job I like the least--but then the door to the council room opens and in walk my twin sister and her betrothed.

Despite the lies and manipulations that Locke and Taryn have subjected us to, Cardan for some reason still allows his former friend into the court, a fact which Locke takes full advantage of. I suspect his parading around is partially to piss me off, strutting in, hand-in-hand, with my sister, stroking her hair, her shoulder, her back when he knows I’m watching.

The first thing I notice, after my annoyance subsides, is their clothes. Instead of their usual faerie attire, they are wearing mortal clothes. Well, Taryn is in her jeans and blue t-shirt and old sneakers; Locke is still wearing his own garb, but it’s remarkably understated. Plain brown breeches and a long-sleeved v-necked green shirt with a bit of twine tied at the chest. A bit Robin Hood-ish, but it goes well with his fox-colored hair, and he grins as if he knows it.

Cardan is still working on guzzling every last drop of wine in the kingdom, so I look back and forth between Locke and my sister, Queen Orlagh’s letter momentarily set aside. “Well?” I ask.

Taryn looks at Locke, and he gives her a small nod. “We thought we’d go out shopping today and wondered if you and--and the king wanted to come. We could make a day of it. Meet up with Vivi.”

Her eyes are bright and hopeful, a small nervous smile disappearing and reappearing upon her face like a Cheshire Cat. If I wasn’t convinced Locke was behind this, pulling her puppet strings, I’d almost believe she actually wants to hang out with me again. Almost.

At any rate, this is the moment Cardan decides to resurface from his ocean of inebriation and from there it was decided. We absolutely _had_ to go into the mortal world, the king demanded it, long live the king. Or whatever. I suppose that might make everything that happened later his fault, and certainly I blamed Cardan for a lot of things, but then I was the one who crowned him so maybe that made it my fault too. He certainly blamed me for a great many things too.

It was a fine line that the two of us walked. Cardan was the king and could do virtually anything he liked with me. But he was obligated to me for a year and a day, so until that time was up, I could do what I wanted with him as well. It was an odd give-and-take relationship, with mostly him taking, and mostly my energy and patience.

I have no patience for him this morning, now that my job has gone from advisor to babysitter in a matter of seconds, as if this were something simple and not a journey that involved a change of clothes--disguises, more like--and magical transportation. Perhaps that was my fault too, his over-eagerness to go with them. I certainly didn’t hide my annoyance at their arrival nor had I held my tongue in when trying to persuade them against the plan. But the king would not be satisfied until he too could accompany them to mortal world, and wouldn’t his lovely seneschal want to come too, at the very least to see her older sister?

If this was a warning to check on his nephew Oak, who now lives with Vivi in hiding, or a threat to her person, I still do not know. Or perhaps it was, in that strange way of his, Cardan’s attempt at asking me along for the sake of company. I know I would not like to play third wheel to Locke and Taryn’s duo. I still have a hard time speaking with them, but since Cardan is determined to go for whatever reasons I cannot yet guess, I am forced to go too, if only to make sure our king remains safe.

(For my sanity, I did tell my friends, if they can be called so, about our trip. The Roach, as I expected, did not like it one bit. The Ghost offered no opinion but a small lifting of an eyebrow, and the Bomb looked almost jealous. I told them they could change places with me at any moment, but the Bomb just laughed. Nobody wants to be in my position, least of all me.)

Our older sister Vivi used to transform stalks of ragwort into horses for us to fly into the mortal world. I don’t need to ask if Taryn has shared this trick with Locke for he conjures up our steeds with no more than a wave of his hand and a simple incantation. And now here we are, behind Target at the edge of a small wooded area, my twin sister and I and our Faerie men.

The first thing I do is make sure Locke and Cardan have glamoured their ears. Locke is all too eager to comply, which makes me wonder yet again why he has insisted on this trip. Cardan, however, vain creature that he is, does not want to alter any part of his appearance.

“Either glamour your ears or wear a hat.” I cross my arms at his put-out expression. I am not babysitting a king but a five-year-old.

“A hat,” he answers testily, “would not match my outfit.”

He is, of course, right. Cardan’s “disguise,” for lack of a better word, consists of an outfit very similar to Locke’s except mostly in black: black breeches and a black tunic stitched with gold thread, under which sits a white long-sleeve shirt. It’s one of his more tamer outfits, but since neither Taryn nor I had anything that would fit him, we had to make do. As it was, I spent more time than I should have convincing him not to wear the breeches made of moss or the shirt with the collar of thorns. Honestly, he actually doesn’t look that bad and could probably pass for someone who shops at Hot Topic, especially with his jet black hair and the dark kohl lining his eyes, but we are not stopping at the mall today. We are at Target, which is closer to where Vivi lives, and anyway has more of the supplies Taryn and I need as females.

“I don’t know why you’re here at all,” I say to him. “You hate humans. Why do you want to shop with them?” I don’t know why, but his presence more than Locke’s, here in the mortal world, here in _my_ former world, is rubbing me the wrong way. Like an invasion of privacy, though it’s never been a secret that I’m from here.

Cardan chews on the inside of his lip. “I don’t hate all humans,” he says finally.

I frown. We haven’t spoken about our kiss since it happened, and I don’t want to talk about it now. Especially not with the other two standing so close nearby. Especially knowing what I must do to him later.

“Let’s just go.” Locke changes our horses back into ragwort, and I text Vivi from the cellphone she got me when I dropped Oak off at her place and let her know we’re here.

“Consider this a lesson in Human-Faerie relations,” Taryn’s betrothed says walking up behind us, and I grit my teeth. I do not know if he overheard my words with Cardan, or if he’s just being his usual asshole self, so I choose not to respond. I still don’t have a response for what Cardan has said to me.

Locke drags Taryn off to who knows where the second we are in the doors of Target, and I sigh in annoyance as I promised myself I would watch him while we’re in the store. I don’t know what his aim is, but I know he’s been in the mortal world before, trips with Valerian spent taunting and torturing humans with faerie food and glamours, and I am not going to allow that to happen, not here and not with Taryn as a forced participant. But with the two of them gone, I am now stuck shopping with Cardan. At least I can be thankful they didn’t ask to go to Ikea.

I look over at Cardan then, wondering what he makes of all this. He is currently blinking from the bright lights of the store, his brow slightly furrowed as he stares at the red shopping carts, the jingling of the cash registers, the customers queued up at the small Starbucks just off to our right. But I don’t have time to ask him what he thinks as we’re suddenly in the way of a very intense looking woman with a shopping cart and handful of coupons. I pull Cardan out of the way and commence our tour of the wonderful world of suburban shopping.

I head for the snacks first. Somehow, starting off by getting feminine products--and the ensuing conversation--does not seem like the best way to begin. I grab a few bags of chips and am somewhat surprised to find Koala Yummies, a chocolate snack I remember popping by the handful as a child, so I take a few of those too. Cardan, meanwhile, has been silent the entire time and is looking around with the air of a confused tourist. Which I suppose, in a way, he is. I can just imagine him sending a postcard back to Elfhame. “Dear Balekin, The weather is lovely. Glad you’re not here.”

“I don’t get it,” he says finally, while I’m trying to decide if I want to carry a small case of espresso shot cans back with me. I could certainly use the extra caffeine. It’s not as if I’ve been sleeping well lately anyway.

“What don’t you get?” I ask. I decide against the espresso shots. It will just make my bags heavier, and I know I won’t get any help in carrying them.

Cardan stops and glances up and down at a cardboard cut-out of some sort of purple blob, which seems to be a new cereal mascot of some kind. “The targets,” he says. “Where are they?”

It takes me a second to realize what he means, and then I cannot help myself. I laugh. “This place is _called_ Target,” I explain. “That’s its name. There aren’t any targets around. This isn’t like hunting for our food.” I cover my smile, our earlier conversation about him wanting to bring his bow and arrows suddenly making a lot more sense.

Cardan’s eyes flick my way at my laughter, but he doesn’t respond so my amusement dies pretty quickly. I shake my head at him again. Why did he even bother coming? I thought perhaps that, despite his unhappiness with Locke, he’d join in with him and joke about the stupid things mortals do, laughing up and down the aisles at the odd things we need because we are weak and cannot do magic. I am sure that is what Locke is doing now, my sister most likely trying to play off his cutting remarks as true jokes in case anyone overhears. The last thing we need is to be noticed by the other shoppers, but I find I cannot muster much sympathy for my sister’s situation. She chose to go with Locke knowing how he treated me, how he treated all of us. And still Cardan chose to come along today. Perhaps he too knows it is smart to “keep your enemies closer,” though I do not ask him.

And then it happens. I skip the frozen food aisle--heating the flimsy plastic containers over a large fireplace seems like more trouble than it is worth--and head towards the toiletries. When I turn around to tell Cardan to follow, I discover that he is gone. I close my eyes and count to ten. Shopping with Cardan is like shopping with a small child. Perhaps I should check the candy aisle first. After a second’s thought, I end up heading there first. Cardan isn’t there, but Locke and Taryn are. My sister is showing Locke all the different kinds of chocolate the store sells, and for once, the two of them seem to getting along. A real couple, talking and sharing, as opposed to the manipulators and liars I know them to be.

Taryn turns to find me watching them while Locke continues to look at the different kinds of M&Ms. She’s hugging her arms around her middle, rubbing her hands over her forearms.

“A bit cold in here, isn’t it?” She laughs nervously. She still doesn’t know how to act around me, and I don’t particularly feel like making it easier for her.

“Not really.” It’s not true autumn yet--in fact, we’re barely out of summer--but this far north it is already starting to cool off outside, and I am the only one wearing a jacket. It’s an old one that used to belong to Vivi, black with a pink ring around the collar, the words “Slick Bitch” stitched in dark pink on the back. Not one I would normally wear in a setting such as this, but it was the only one I could find in my search to change clothes. Taryn and I are actually wearing similar outfits--jeans and different shades of blue shirts. It’s something we used to do a lot when we were younger but stopped as soon as the other faerie children started teasing us, though we used it to great advantage in tricking our tutors. Perhaps it is this memory that has me taking off my jacket and handing it to her before I realize what exactly I am doing.

Her smile is big and grateful as she threads her arms through the sleeves, and I almost wish I had not done it. Now she is going to think I am on my way in forgiving her for the part she played in Locke’s cruel games.

So maybe that is why I roll my eyes and huff louder than I should when I say, “Have you seen Cardan? He’s wandered off.”

The smile is gone now as she answers me. “No, no I haven’t. We’re almost done, though. Did--did Vivi say if she was coming?”

“Yeah, she’s on her way. She got stuck in traffic.” Vivi had finally texted me back only moments ago, right before I lost Cardan. “Why don’t you guys head to the front and I’ll look for our fearless leader.” Most of the stuff in their basket seems to be stuff Locke picked out, so I don’t worry about them not having grabbed enough leaves for money, and I stalk off to search the rest of the giant store. It isn’t too long before I find Cardan in the back watching some kids in the media section playing with the display controls for the latest and greatest video game.

“You shouldn’t be wandering off,” I say to him angrily.

He barely spares me a glance as the ninja in the game lands a hard kick to his opponent’s face, sending the man’s head flying clear off his neck. It’s gross and it’s bloody and it’s way over the top, and the kids playing are thrilled.

“Why do they play at mock fights? Why do they not fight themselves?” Cardan muses to himself, and I exhale sharply. That’s just what I need: Cardan starting a fight club for eight-year-olds.

“Because no one really gets hurt in those games. Now come on.” I grab his sleeve and manage to drag him away from the distracting noise and flashing of the flat screen tvs. Suddenly I am very exhausted and I am tempted to go back and get those espresso shots. It is a lot of work to run a kingdom, especially one with a king who tries my patience at every turn, and trying to keep an eye on him in this world--a world that is completely foreign to him that he still professes to hate--is wearing on my every nerve.

“Taryn and Locke are up front.” I hate what I’m about to say before I even say it, but some part of me is still embarrassed enough not to want Cardan around for this part of my shopping. “Can I trust you to go up front and meet them? I just have to grab one more thing and I’ll be done.”

He gives me a withering look that would have any other member of our court melting in their hooves, but I only return his stare for a hard one of my own.

“Fine,” he eventually mumbles. “As you command,” and he walks off.

For a moment, I wonder if I could command him. Exit the store, take your ragwort steed back to your kingdom, and respond to Queen Orlagh’s list of demands. The idea is tempting. If I’m not there when he reads the letter, he certainly can’t yell at me about it.

But I don’t. I go back to the toiletries section, grab a box of tampons, and head to the registers. My side quest has taken but a few minutes, but the other three are nowhere around the front doors. I assume they are outside and so pay for my things, and it’s then that I hear the commotion at the front doors. At first, I think it’s just the kids who were popping wheelies on their bikes in the parking lot. Maybe more of their friends have joined them. But then I hear someone scream and there’s more shouting and: “Someone call 911!”

My heart pounds in my chest. I grab my change and throw the coins in my bags where I know they’ll turn back to pebbles, so I don’t worry about that as I run for the doors. Once outside, the scene is chaos. Mostly it’s a lot of people just standing around staring, but I push past them and then stop when I see one of the people I have pushed is Cardan.

“Where are Taryn and Locke?” I demand. I still do not see them yet in this messy crowd of people.

Cardan stares at me, his mouth slightly ajar. His face is white, so much lighter than its normal milky white. “It’s you,” he says.

I don’t have time for games. “Yes, it’s me. Where are Taryn and Locke?” If something has happened, and only now do I hear the ambulance sirens in the background, we don’t need to be called on as witnesses.

Cardan looks at me up and down as if he’s never seen me before, and then pivots to look at where the cluster of people is the biggest. He turns back to me. “It’s Taryn.”

And that’s when I see, through the legs of the bystanders, Taryn on the ground, her right leg lying at a very odd, very not-right angle.

Thank the gods for Vivi, though I’m sure she must have thought something magical had gone wrong, driving up just as the paramedics did and seeing me standing there with a very pale, very stunned Cardan.

For a moment, I don’t know what to do. There’s too much noise from the ambulance and people shouting, and Cardan is standing there like he’s been glamoured. Even Locke, who has been shoved out of the way, is looking surprisingly shaken, though whether it is because Taryn has been injured or because this is not the kind of drama he imagined would occur today, I cannot tell.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “All right,” I say more to myself than the others. “All right.”

Vivi forces her way up to the ambulance while I try to get someone to tell me what happened. It sounds like Taryn tripped into traffic just as a car was racing through, but from the dark looks Cardan keeps throwing Locke, I know there must be more to the story. Once it looks like Vivi is done talking to the paramedics, I shove Locke and Cardan in the backseat of her car. I will ride with Taryn in the ambulance, and Vivi will follow behind.

Once we arrive at the hospital, we are forced to sit in the waiting room until the doctors are done with Taryn. Cardan sits between Vivi and I while Locke has been banished to the other side of the room. Upon arrival, before Taryn can even be unloaded from the ambulance, the boys almost come to blows right in front of everyone, and now they are both stewing in their seats in opposite corners. From what I could gather, in-between dodging fists and insults, is that Locke was teasing Taryn and playfully shoved her, though the word “playfully” has been called into question. Regardless of how hard he pushed her, it happened at the same time as a teen came racing through and the car hit her before taking off, sending her rolling to the ground with a broken leg. I can guess that perhaps Locke’s anger is due to some combination of guilt and defensiveness, but as to why Cardan is so upset, I cannot imagine. I’ve never seen him this upset over someone getting hurt, and for it to be over Taryn confuses me even more.

But, while Cardan’s behavior is certainly puzzling, I don’t have much thought to spare for him as my mind is racing a mile a minute over what to do about this new situation. There will be questions about incident, definitely, but more worrying still, there will be paperwork. Paperwork that involves questions about our address, insurance, payment. I steal a glance over at Vivi, who has thankfully remembered to wear her sunglasses indoors in order to cover her cat eyes, and I know she is trying to process the implications of this as well. We will have to glamour the doctors and nurses, there is no question about that; I am only worried about how many will be affected in order for us to get out of here. Vivi could do it, certainly, though it will tax her energy. We could ask Locke, though I don’t trust him not to try and play some game with it. Cardan might, if asked, but given the blank look on his face, I don’t know that he’s in the right mindframe at the moment to work magic. Vivi it will have to be.

But for now, we sit in the waiting room and watch the tv up in the corner of the wall. It’s playing some sitcom with a laugh track, and from the little I have paid attention to, it’s the kind of sitcom that needs a laugh track if only to tell the audience when they should be laughing too. Soon after, though not soon enough, a doctor finds us and brings us to Taryn’s room. She’s sleeping off the effects of the anesthesia they gave her while setting her leg, and her leg is now in a cast hanging from a sling bolted to the ceiling. According to the doctor, the x-rays show her leg broke in two places, and after resetting the bone, she’ll need to be in the cast for at least eight weeks, possibly longer. Obviously not news we were hoping to hear, but not unexpected either.

As soon as the doctor leaves, Vivi offers to go take care of the glamouring. The sooner we can leave, the better, she says, though I know she is also restless and stressed out from this unexpected shock. I haven’t even had a chance to get her alone to ask after Oak, but I let her go and do her thing.

Cardan stands by the window, staring out at the sunset in the distance, and I wonder if he wishes he had stayed at court today. Does looking at all the machines and tubes and other strange hospital equipment remind him of how short a mortal life is? Cardan and his friends used to taunt me about how “less” I was to them because of my comparatively shorter lifespan. Does he regret this reminder? Or is it just another piece of knowledge to store away in his education as a king in Human-Faerie relations?  

He shifts his feet, and I notice even in the reflection of the window that a sickly sheen of green has replaced his former pale white skin. I am so stupid. How much iron is in the metal of this hospital’s machines? How much was used in the fixtures at the store? For all my time in the Faerie realm, I still forget I retain some advantage--however small---in being mortal.

“Do you need to leave?” I ask him. “If it’s making you sick, I can take you back before returning here.” I suppose I could leave Locke to deal with my sister, but even I am not that angry with her.

“I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and swallows, his throat bobbing nervously, but does not look at me.

Fine. “Well, I’m going to get something to drink. I’ll be right back.” I decide to leave him to his wool-gathering for the time being. Sometimes when Cardan gets in these moods, it is just best to leave him be.

I quickly find some vending machines and am back before Vivi has returned. Cardan is now sitting in the chair next to Taryn’s bed, his legs splayed out in front of him, his arms still crossed. He’s drinking something out of a flask he must have pulled from some hidden pocket, and I just hope the nurse doesn’t smell it the next time she comes in. The last thing we need is for Cardan to be admitted for public drunkenness or--worse--for them to find his tail.

But I do find it odd that he’s the one sitting vigil by her chair and not her betrothed. I actually don’t know where Locke is; I thought he had followed us from the waiting room, but it appears he did not. That should worry me—he’s probably off seducing a young nurse in a closet somewhere—but it doesn’t. If he were smart, he’d stay away completely until we’re ready to go in case people start asking questions about Taryn’s accident, but I’m sure he’ll show up at some point.

I put the cup of coffee and can of soda I’ve collected from the machines outside on the small table sitting over Taryn. She’s still asleep, and Cardan looks like he’s going to fall over any second. I remember his face when I came out of the store and discovered Taryn on the ground. I’ve never seen him look that wide-eyed and shaken before, not when his brother was whipping his back over and over again, not even when I gave him a crown he never expected or wanted.

Now, however, he just looks exhausted, death warmed over. I haven’t looked in a mirror since that morning, but I’m sure I look the same way. I certainly feel it.  
  
“Here.” I push the drinks toward him. “You should put something other than alcohol in your system for once.”  
  
“Is that another command?” His voice is hoarse, almost a whisper.

I roll my eyes, but at least if he’s being like this, I can handle him. “No,” I answer. “But we’ll be leaving here soon. It’ll be hard enough getting Taryn out. We don’t need to be dragging you along too.”  
  
He sits up in his chair, and I think he means to take one of the drinks, but instead he places his flask on the table next to them. “It’s not wine,” he says. “It’s water.”

I flinch and then narrow my eyes. I know he cannot lie, but I still do not believe him. I pick up the flask and sniff at the mouthpiece. It doesn’t smell, but that doesn’t mean anything, so I take a sip. Water. _Huh_. Suddenly I find the idea of a drunk Cardan easier to deal with. I’ve not had much practice with a sober Cardan, and I don’t know what to make of his serious attitude. 

“Well, that took a lot longer than I wanted but it’s done.” Vivi enters the room just then, looking haggard even under her sunglasses from the drain her magic must have put on her. I turn and grab the cup of coffee out of Cardan’s hands and shove the styrofoam cup at my sister. “Thanks.” She takes it gratefully and drinks before continuing. “I got them to believe we have insurance and they’ll be sending the bill to our old address.”  
  
I blink, and the memory of reciting our address in our old kitchen washes over me. Taryn and I standing next to each other in matching clothes, she in pigtails and I with my hair down, in front of our mother, who’s making mac-n-cheese on the stove top while testing us. It’s such a visceral memory that I swear I can smell the cheesy noodles.  
  
Vivi is still talking. “And I got her painkillers from the pharmacy so as soon as she wakes up, we can go.”  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan picking up the soda can I bought. He eyes the top suspiciously before tapping on it a few times. Obviously, nothing happens. “If we have the medicine, we should just wake her up now,” I say, grabbing the soda out of Cardan’s hands. This is the second time in as many minutes I have taken a drink from him, and only now does he look annoyed. I roll my eyes, pop the metal tab open, and hand it back to him. For a moment, I wonder which would be worse: a drunk Cardan, or one hopped up on artificial sweetener?  
  
Over on the bed, Taryn finally stirs. “Oh, Vivi’s here. Good.” She is understandably groggy but well enough that we help her sit up in bed. “Where’s Locke?” she asks.

“Out,” I snap, pushing up the pillow behind her back. She’s aware of Vivi’s and Locke’s presences, or lack thereof, but hasn’t said anything about or to me. I shouldn’t bother me that much, but it does. “Listen, as soon as you can, we need to get out of here.”

Despite my feelings, I hate that we have to push her out of bed so soon after hurting herself, and I can see by the look on Vivi’s face that she’s not happy about it either. But I don’t know how long the glamours Vivi cast will last, and Taryn will be able to fully rest once we get back to Elfhame.

Just then, as if he was in the hallway waiting for the right moment to burst in, the door opens and it’s Locke. He’s sitting in a wheelchair and he rolls himself right up to the bed. “A princess needs transportation, does she not?” He pushes his fox-red hair out of his eyes and smiles roguishly.

Taryn smiles, looking relieved, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes again. Instead, I turn around, close my eyes, and count to ten. It’s been a long day--too long--and I just want to get out of here.

When I open my eyes, I see Cardan staring at Locke with narrowed eyes. “Where were you?”

Locke merely smiles, though I too would like to know where he got that wheelchair. Or worse, who he took it from. “Out,” he replies with a shrug.

Cardan turns to me, and we share a look. We both know that Locke’s answer is not an answer, even if the word itself is true. He was not there with us in Taryn’s room; therefore, he was _out_ of the room. But for a moment, as I make eye contact with him, it’s like Cardan and I are friends again--or at least as near enough to friends as we’ve ever been, which is to say neither of us want to kill each other in that exact second of time. He is not the High King of Elfhame, I am not his puppet-master. There is no stress, no danger, no chance of being killed today. We look at each other, sharing the same thoughts, same expressions, and for a moment, I can breathe.

And then he looks back at Locke, and the moment is gone.

Vivi and Locke maneuver Taryn into the wheelchair, and Cardan surprisingly takes the lookout at the door. My heart is pounding in my head, but he only has to send one nurse off on an errand down the opposite way, and then we are off and at Vivi’s car without another incident. I keep imagining that someone will stop us, a battalion of doctors and nurses chasing after us with needles and scalpels, but nothing happens. Despite a few magic glamours, it’s amazing how far acting like you naturally belong and know where you’re going can get you.

Locke is in the front seat with Vivi, and Taryn’s leg sits across my and Cardan’s laps in the backseat. He still isn’t talking much, but his face seems to have settled back into its naturally disgruntled “I’m so much better than whatever situation I’m currently in” look.

We get back to Target in record time, Vivi playing fast and loose with the speed limit, but as long as we get back, I don’t care how blurry the other cars are on the road. She drives us around to the backside of the store, and then it is a wrestling match to get Taryn and her giant cast up on the ragwort horse. This whole day is a comedy of errors, and Taryn looks close to tears from the pain as her leg is jostled into place.

Cardan is standing by his horse, ignoring the whole proceedings. Too good for manual labor, I suppose, but his attitude is starting to bother me. I watch him for another moment before finally making up my mind. My hands are like ice in the cool night air, and I shove them in my pockets before stomping over to confront him. His behavior has been strange all day, and I don’t like it. Cardan is many things—arrogant, flippant, occasionally charming—but never this serious or quiet. I don’t know what happened to make him so stone-faced but it bothers me more than his continuous drinking does. And that’s the other thing, I think, remembering the water in his flask. That in itself was a warning sign, but of what, I had yet to guess.  
  
“Hey.” With my hands in my pockets, I bump his ankle with my foot to get his attention.  
  
He doesn’t answer, but I see his jaw clench, his ear flick back, aware of my presence. I’m tired of him acting like this. I need to know what’s wrong or others might notice his odd behavior when we return to the court. Faeries, particularly Balekin and his cronies, are brutal. One small whiff of inattention and they won’t hesitate to make their move and steal the crown back.  
  
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why are you acting so strange?”  
  
He shrugs. If his intention is to anger me further, it’s working. It’s usually a sport for him: how angry can the king make his human shield before she storms off in front of the whole court? But I’m not going to back down now. Not until I can figure out what’s wrong so I can anticipate how this might affect the court.  
  
“What’s. Wrong.” I take another step forward so that Cardan is forced to look at me. Despite the fact that he is much taller than me, my anger and our sudden closeness force him a step back. I can’t help but give a small smile. As long as he knows who’s truly in charge.  
  
Instead of answering my question, Cardan lets his eyes sweep up and down my body. I ignore it. It’s a move he too often resorts to in order to fluster me, but it won’t work now. His eyes stop on my chest. “I see you’re wearing your jacket again.”  
  
“So?” I make a point of exhaling loudly, my breath forming a cloud between us. “It’s cold out.” Taryn’s wheelchair had a blanket on it, so I took my jacket back from her before we left the hospital.  
  
Cardan stares at my jacket for another moment before turning back to face his horse. “You weren’t wearing it before.”  
  
I frown. “Yeah, I gave it to Taryn ‘cause she was cold. So wha—“ I stop. I had given Taryn my jacket in Target because she was cold and she had still been wearing it when she went outside. When she’d been hit by the car.  
  
It was my turn to stagger back. “Did you think it was me?” I knew Cardan had a strange fascination with me—tried to forget it, really—but to be so rattled at the thought of my being hurt? It just isn’t possible.  
  
“I thought—“ Cardan starts and stops, fingering the bridle of his ragwort horse, who shakes its head impatiently. I’m sure the others are waiting for us, though Cardan has yet to mount. He runs his long fingers along the edge of his saddle, and his nostrils are flared, his breathing loud.  
  
I don’t know what Cardan is playing at here, but the longer we stand with these horses, the more likely someone might come upon us. We need to go. “Look—“  
  
“Yes, I thought it was you, all right?” He whirls around to face me, and his eyes flash with anger and some other emotion I can’t guess at. He leans over me, his dark hair falling in his face, and I am surprised to find that he is shaking.  
  
“I thought it was you that got hurt. And it made me feel—“ He pursed his lips and shakes his head, clearly at war with the truth behind his emotions. Because every word he speaks is the truth, and he does not want to speak whatever words are forcing themselves out of his mouth.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, his breath gently blowing a few strands of hair out of my face. “I don’t like the way it made me feel.” He opens his eyes then and looks down at me, his dark eyes staring intently at mine, and I find suddenly that I cannot look away. A hand reaches up and brushes the remaining hair away from my eyes. My hands are still in my jacket pockets and I cannot move.

“Don’t be so flattered,” he whispers, his upper lip curled in a slight snarl. “I was angry that you would leave me with so much left unfinished.”

He is standing so close, his breath warm on my skin, and I am breathing him in, his scent a sharp mix of moss and leather. “Unfinished?” I ask. I feel as if I must say something, and then I curse myself for sounding so stupid and insipid.

“Between us,” he says, his voice now rising in pitch. “How dare you leave me with this crown I never wanted and with these feelings I don’t understand?”

We’re verging on dangerous territory again, not the least because others are standing nearby. “What feelings?” I ask. “You don’t make it a secret that you hate working with me.”

He hates that I work with him, I think as he breathes heavily over me.

He hates that I can command him, I understand as I stare at the sharp cheekbones that stand out on his pale, perfect face.

He hates humans, I remind myself as I watch him lick his lips.

“What I hate,” he says, his voice low and husky, “is that working with you. . . affects me. . . in ways that I cannot bring myself to confess.” He is trying to hard _not_ to say something to me, and suddenly I know the answer is on his lips and I want nothing more than to find it, preferably with my own.

He is waiting for me to respond, and I watch as his gaze flicks back and forth between my eyes and lips. I could lie to Cardan, pretend that it all means nothing and give him the answer he thinks he wants. Or I could tell the truth and let him know that I still think about our kiss when I held him captive, a knife against his throat.

But standing on the edge of the small woods in the mortal world, behind a Target, the sour smell of their dumpster wafting over us, I cannot give him either answer. It is just not the place to do so.

I look one more time at his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips against mine as our one kiss began soft until it continued with a hard urgency, and take a step back. Locke is clearing his throat at us from atop the horse he is now sharing with Taryn so that she doesn’t fall off on the way back over the ocean.

“We need to go,” I say to him, effectively ending the conversation.

Cardan blinks, and his cool, arrogant veneer snaps back into place. I am sorry for it, actually sorry for causing him pain, and that is when I realize just how tired I must be. But that is the life I chose: to help rule Elfhame and ensure it doesn’t self-destruct due to Balekin and Madoc’s machinations, not to fall prey to fairy tales and become some lovelorn princess.

Without another word or glance at me, Cardan swings himself up on his horse. We leave shortly after, and it’s a quick trip back to the world of the Fae. The world of dangerous court politics. The world where Cardan is the crown and I the. . . the mastermind? I certainly don’t feel like one. Despite my choice, I wonder for a brief second what life would have been like if I had chosen love. But my relationship with Cardan is difficult enough as it is. I cannot imagine a happy ending for me with anyone, least of all him.

I look back at my sister and her betrothed as he turns their horse back to ragwort. Taryn and Locke have chosen their ending already, though I still retain my doubts about how happy that will be for either of them. A carriage is sent for to take them home, and their items from Target are soon loaded in with them. I watch them silently, telling myself I do so if only to make sure that they leave, though I cannot help but wonder how Taryn’s leg will fare or what excuse they will give for the injury. Locke tosses the last plastic bag into the carriage, but not before retrieving an item that has fallen out of one. It is a sock, a small white one with what looks like an acorn on the ankle. It looks familiar, but I was all over that store looking for Cardan, so I assume I saw it then. Taryn probably bought it for him as a gift. I shake my head.

Behind me, Cardan’s horse reverts back to ragwort as soon as his feet touch the ground, and he stomps off silently into the palace and across the main hall, up the stairs to his bedroom shouting his order not to be disturbed as he goes. I am about to head to my room—it has been such a long day and all I want to do is collapse on my bed—when I pass by a silver mirror encircled with emerald leaves and ruby flower petals. I am still wearing Vivi’s old jacket. _Slick Bitch_. I snort. Slick, I am not. I take the jacket off and toss it on the floor. I do not want to ever wear that jacket again and do not care who takes it.

When I get up to my room, I find Cardan leaning against my door with his arms crossed around an open bottle of wine. I thought he was mad enough to avoid me but instead seems to have been waiting for me to appear. I should be cautious. The gleam in his eye is not very welcoming, but I am tired and want my room.

“I see you got rid of your jacket,” he says by way of greeting.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want you to mistake anyone else for me,” I say irritably as I shove past him into my room.

This was, perhaps, a mean thing to say, and once I am in my room, I turn to see the amusement gone from his face. “I am glad today was such a game to you.” His voice is sharp, and I still do not know what he wants or why he is standing in my doorway.

“None of this is a game,” I snap. “Do you think I think any of this is fun? Babysitting you on shopping trips? Making sure you don’t accidentally insult a visiting dignitary because you’re drunk _again_? Dragging you to lessons with the Roach and the Ghost so you can defend yourself against assassins?” My eyes can barely stay open and all I want to do is fall into bed, but I cannot show weakness in front of Cardan, especially not while he insults me. “Don’t tell me you enjoy any of that because I know you don’t.”

“No, I do not,” he answers, because I am the one who has forced all of this on him. Except for the shopping.

“Why did you come today?” I ask him again.

He takes a swig of wine and the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Human-Faerie relations,” he says, mocking me with Locke’s words from earlier. He places the bottle on the mantle of my fireplace and follows me into the room.

I’m still not sure what that means, and at this point, I don’t know that I care. It is late and I want to sleep. “And did you learn anything from that?” I ask. Though I do not know what answer I am expecting, it is not the one that comes out of his mouth.

“Do you hate me that much?” he asks. “Do you truly hate me that you cannot even spend a day out _not_ conspiring or scheming or plotting? And do not lie, though I know you can.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus through the sleep-deprivation. I hate a great many things about Cardan and what he has done to me. But truly hate, in the way he means the word? I do not know. I don’t think I could truly work with him if I did. I wonder if there is a word for “I think I hate you but I also wouldn’t mind if you shoved me up against a wall and had your way with me”?

I blush, grateful that he cannot read minds, but I have taken too long to answer, and to Cardan, my non-answer is an answer. The corner of his mouth twitches again, though he’s biting his lower lip. I start to object, though no one’s said a word so I don’t really know what I’m objecting to, and then he steps forward until his feet are almost up against mine.

“Do you think I like feeling this way?” he asks, leaning over me. His breath smells sweetly of honey wine, and his eyes are alert, scrutinizing.

“I think you like making me feel bad about it,” I say honestly, and he smiles because it is true.

“I could make you feel good about it,” he says. His face is so close to mine now, I can see the kohl smudges from where he must have rubbed his eyes. I could even count his eyelashes if I wanted to. But that is not what I want in that moment, my eyes dipping to his lips.

“But you’ll hate yourself for it,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. He’s made it no secret that his desire for me is completely at odds with his feelings towards humans in general, try as I might to ignore it all in order to do my job.

“Well, it’s a good thing I already hate myself,” he says. And before I can respond, a hand snakes its way around my waist, and his lips are on mine, determined and unrelenting.

It is not what I want and everything I’ve wanted, and I wonder if I could give in and let myself enjoy this as much as Cardan seems to be enjoying me. I am so tired, not just physically, but mentally as well; Cardan was right when he said I cannot stop scheming and plotting. But here in my room, I decide maybe I should stop scheming, just for the night, just for this moment, and let my mind rest as my body gives into pleasure. Don’t I enjoy a night off for once too?

I grin against his mouth--me admitting Cardan is right?--and he misinterprets my amusement, wrapping his arms around me even tighter, one hand pushing up under my hair as he pulls my body against his.

“You must really hate yourself,” I say in between kisses, and for good measure, I bite at his bottom lip.

“You have no idea,” he says, moving to my ear, his voice low and gravelly. It sends shivers down my spine, and he nips the edge of my ear, kissing me, licking me up and down my neck. His hands, however, stay relatively northward, but this--this is something so much more than a mere kiss at knife point, and since I have already made the plunge, I grab his hands and shove them down toward my hips, pushing my shirt up slightly so he knows what I want him to do.

“You make a lot of demands for someone who does not wear a crown,” he says, laughing huskily. But his fingers are already under my shirt, teasing their way up my skin.

I smirk against his neck. “You follow a lot of instructions for someone who is not commanded to do them.”

His hands venture further under my shirt until one is at my collar, trying desperately to tug it over my head while the other briefly hesitates just under my bra before it moves up and cups my breast. My breath hitches, and he pauses, but I don’t want him to stop, not now, so I pull my arms away as fast as I can and yank my shirt off over my head. And his hands are back in place--one hand over my breast, caressing and gentle, which is so unlike the Cardan I know, the other hand cradling my neck--before my t-shirt even hits the floor.

His black tunic hits the carpet shortly after that, and then it is my turn to run my hands under the long-sleeved white shirt he wears underneath. My hands are everywhere--I do not know if or when this will happen again--and I am determined to touch him, touch this strange Faerie king who consumes my every thought, both good and bad, desirous and self-loathing. But in our haste to touch each other’s bodies as much as we can, my own fingers catch the end of the scars on his back and I stop.

My fingertips hesitate on his cool skin, always cool despite the warmth of the fire at his back, and I pull my lips away from his. I still have not told him that I witnessed his brother have him whipped, and I cannot tell him now. Perhaps Cardan does not want to me ever find out, and so I wait, wait this time for his command to stop.

Cardan’s heavy-lidded eyes stare down at me, and for a moment, I think they will revert back to their usual sharp cruelness. But though his gaze does not leave mine, he surprises me instead by removing his white shirt and tossing that to the ground as well.

His lips come back down to meet mine, but this time his kisses are gentle, slower, and I too take my time, my fingers roaming his back as he lets me feel every scar from every punishment he has ever taken. Though I already know how he got them, I do not feign ignorance and ask him for details. The fact that he is letting me see this vulnerable side of him is enough, and I do not want to ruin the moment. I close my eyes and kiss his chest, and Cardan sighs softly against me, and that is when I feel his hands at my middle.

Cardan hesitates then, his fingertips hovering over the waistband of my jeans. I discover that the top button is already undone, and he pauses as if waiting for permission to continue. It would be so easy to go on, I think, so easy to pull him down into another kiss as his arms embrace me and pick me up, my legs wrapping themselves around his hips as he carries me to my bed and joins me under the covers. I can feel the goosebumps running down my back as I shiver, imagining exactly what could happen if I let it.

And maybe I’d regret it in the morning and maybe I wouldn’t; maybe he’d regret it in the morning and maybe he wouldn’t. But it has already been such a strange day that I do not know if I can bring myself to push it any further, to push him any further. Especially not with that letter from Nicasia’s mother sitting on my desk behind us.

Cardan must feel my hesitation for his fingers lightly brush once more against my skin before moving them away. His chest is rising, his pale skin now flushed a warm pink in the glow of the fireplace. We are standing together with our arms around each other, breathing hard, breathing in each other. Neither of us seem inclined to pull away, and maybe it is that, that we have created this small space between us, of just us, that prompts me to speak again the words Cardan has been fighting against all afternoon.

“You were worried about me,” I say. “You thought I was the one who got hurt.” I look up into his dark eyes and watch the shadows dance across his cheekbones.

“I was,” he whispers. He traces his fingers along the edge of my jaw. “I did.”

“You really do like me. And that scares you because. . .” Because why? Part of my brain wants to reject this notion that Cardan might actually care for me, not just because he has made my life a living hell in everyday life, not just because he continues to frustrate and undermine me at every turn in court.

Because he and I both know it cannot last.

“I know what they call you,” he is saying, and I wince. I do not like that nickname, and I most certainly did not want him to find out about it.

His fingers continue their exploration up my jaw until they reach my ear. He has always been fascinated by my curved ears. “You could be, you know.”

I try to laugh but it comes out weak and nervous-sounding, and my heart is a jackhammer in my chest. I wonder for a brief moment that he has read the letter and is trying to regain the upper hand, though it will serve neither of us in the long run. “They will say I made you do it.” Perhaps he just thinks I am the lesser of two evils, I do not know.

He shrugs, his thumb going round and round my ear, and my eyes flutter, it is so soothing. “They say that anyway.”

But I cannot give him the answer he wants, not now, not ever. We would tear each other apart, and anyways, there is Queen Orlagh’s letter to be dealt with.

“Let us wait,” I say, pushing him gently away from me now. “Until the year and a day are up. Then you can see how you feel about. . . everything then.”

He stares at me for a moment as if not quite comprehending the fact that I, a mere human, am turning down the King of Elfhame, turning down a lifetime of power. I can just imagine his next words to me. _Isn’t that what you want?_ What do I want, I wonder as I watch his careful eyes. Power? Cardan? To make it through another day?

Or perhaps, given the small smile upon his lips, he thinks I am giving him—us—more time. But with the letter on my desk eating away at the back of mind, I know there is no more time than this.

For tomorrow we will have our meeting, King and Seneschal, and I will show him the letter from the Queen of the Undersea and read him her list of requests. And Cardan will rage and fume and hiss, because the Queen is presumptuous to think we will acquiesce to all of her demands. And then Cardan will yell and scream and shout, because I will tell him we must give her every single one.

And then Cardan will go still and silent and slack, because I will command him to do it. Each and every alliance-centered demand.

He leans his face towards mine and kisses me again, soft and lingering, a goodnight kiss, and I let him. Because Cardan is never gentle, and this is the last time he will be so with me. He bends down then and grabs his clothes, throwing his white shirt on before turning wordlessly toward the door. He grabs the wine from my mantelpiece and holds it up as if toasting me. I cannot help it; I smile sadly. This is such a change from the Cardan I usually know, and I hate that it will not last.

“Goodnight, Jude. . . my queen,” he says. His wink is a silent laugh at my nickname, but I let it slide. It will be the last time that title is used on me, especially after tomorrow. The Court of Shadows laughed when I first told them I’d need a new nickname, but once I shared my plans with them, then no one was laughing.

My goosebumps are back as I realize I am still standing in just my unbuttoned jeans and bra. I grab my t-shirt off the floor and throw it back on, too lazy to dig out nightclothes and change. With Cardan now gone, there is nothing else to do but go to bed. I climb on top of the sheets and a wave of exhaustion hits me, even as all the strange and unsettling thoughts swirl around my mind like water circling a drain. I stare at a random spot above me, noticing the dust that has settled on the post of my large canopy bed. The length of the post is carved with vines and leaves, wooden dormice and sparrows poking their heads through the foliage. Whoever carved this bed must have had a sense of humor for two of the sparrows fight over an acorn as another looks on.

An acorn.

I fly up in bed, my eyes wide, adrenaline coursing through me. An acorn like the golden acorn that led to the secret of Oak’s parentage. Like the one on the socks that Vivi bought him as a joke when he went to live with her. Like the sock that fell out of Locke’s bag.

And suddenly I know for a certainty that that is where Locke was when he disappeared at the hospital, using our concern over Taryn as a distraction while he went back to steal the sock from the car. It was definitely a child’s sock, and there’s no way Vivi can claim it is hers. And it takes no imagination to believe Oak must have taken it off at some point during a recent car ride. Locke must’ve seen it when he and Cardan rode with her to the hospital.

Locke knows where Oak is, and I do not doubt his skills in persuading Taryn to give up her address, so that means it is only a matter of time before Balekin and Madoc find out as well. Why else would he keep the sock as proof? The only question is who will be sent to retrieve Oak, and what will happen to those who get in his way? Balekin was the one who discovered the secret that led to Madoc finding and killing my parents, so if Locke gives them this secret. . . My blood chills at the thought of a repeat scenario at Vivi’s place. This is exactly what Vivi feared when I first asked her to take Oak, and Oak is the same age that Taryn and I were back then.

Madoc was not shy about sharing his thoughts on Locke and his unworthiness of my sister. So why work with him now? Unless Locke’s working with Balekin directly, or hopes to by revealing this secret. So, either Balekin has promised Locke a great deal for knowledge of Oak’s whereabouts or Locke has his eye on a high position within the Court. Either way, no matter what the prize, the spontaneous shopping trip and invitation to meet Vivi make perfect sense now.

I must warn both Vivi and Cardan. I hop out of bed and grab my sword Nightfell and a candlestick to light my way. Sleep is—regrettably—the farthest thing from my mind now. I have never trusted Locke but I wonder just how far his plotting has taken him. Does Taryn know—did she suggest Vivi as the easiest person to hide Oak with?—or is she innocent in all of this? Vivi was the most obvious choice to serve as Oak’s minder, and while I curse myself for allowing him to be found so soon after spiriting him away, I know I could not have done otherwise. Courts foster royal children all the time, but I could not give Oak to any of them, not even to Lord Roiben who is on our side for now. He needs to grow up away from Faerie, and I intend to keep it that way.

As I quietly pad down the hallway to the secret corridor that leads to the Court of Shadows hideout, I think back to how long Taryn knew of Locke’s true nature kept it hidden from me and then suddenly remember her first words upon waking in the hospital. _Oh, Vivi’s here. Good._ Was she happy to see her older sister, or glad that she and Locke had a shot at discovering Oak’s whereabouts?

I am practically running now and reach the hideout at last, skidding to a halt and scaring the brownie sweeping the floor in the process. The brownie is one of the Roach’s creatures so I hurriedly scribble a note for it to deliver, asking the Roach to get the others and meet me here as soon as they can.

I do not know when Balekin and Madoc will make their move or even when Locke will meet with them, so I must prepare the Court of Shadows now. I also do not know if Madoc still plans on betraying Balekin in order to give Oak the throne or if his plans have since changed, but none of these possibilities change my original agenda for tomorrow. I must show Cardan the letter from Queen Orlagh, and if he still does not want to cooperate after learning of Locke’s treason, then I _will_ command him.

Even though he will insist there are other ways, even though he will see this as another betrayal, even though his history with Nicasia is not a good one, we need the Undersea’s alliance now more than ever.

 


End file.
